It is as if I am forever looking through a mirror, dimly lit, seeing only half of my reflection. The ‘now’ is the ‘not yet.’ The ‘not yet,’ lives in the now. How else can I describe this life of muted colors, smells, textures, and sounds I put up with? I know there is more than even the deafening ocean breaking its sticks over stones. I am hopeful I will not remain dry. I am hopeful that someday I will not languish. I will not anguish over the browns which settle into champagne flutes. I imagine there will be citrine yellow, optimal pinks, violet lavender eyes; imperial swimming pool skies. There is more on the other side of this mirror. There is a who.
look in the mirror and
long for more than broken glass~
loiter here beyond
Tell me… One more time
How Grandma roller skated–
Hell-bent for Heaven.
If any image should be lasting, it’s the one of Grandma strapping on roller skates, throwing caution to the wind and her fragile bones to a higher power. When I think about it, that’s the best story I could pass on to my daughters. Be funny. Be coy. Be smart. Be trouble. Be happy.
But above all, be brave.
Don’t be stupid, though. My mom and I did affix a brown velour couch pillow to Grandma’s tush using my dad’s belt. We held her hand, ensuring she accomplished her lifelong wish to skate. The brevity of Grandma’s time on wheels was matched with the levity of her legacy. We laughed and tried to steady ourselves. I held and pressed the button down on the Polaroid camera. As long as I live, I hope to never forget that shining moment in time, in the backyard of my 4th Street home with grandma, mom and me.
Be brave. I now tell the same woman who cinched up Grandma’s belt.
Be brave. I tell myself. I’ve been spared another day, because mom still knows my name.
I’ll remind her tomorrow about the time we helped Grandma to skate. I’ll cinch my belt and skate around the catch in my throat when I call. I’ll remind her that it’s Mother’s Day and I’ll say “I love you, Mom.” We’ll both be brave.